My phone rang in the bathroom, finally tearing me away from my soggy cereal. I got up, barely even noticing the pink-and-green lattice wallpaper that Greer had said was “very Palm Beach,” glancing at my hair, which seemed darker since it was wet, in the shiny white mirror, running my hand across the three-day stubble that I needed to shave before work. I was deeply tanned, even though it was December. Winters were mild in Palm Beach, and solitary days on the boat were what kept me breathing—the sea, the sky, the wind. Every day the water outside my door held something new. I kept thinking that maybe it would bring me something new, too, erase the fact that Greer was gone. As of yet, no luck.

A familiar but confusing number lit up my black iPhone screen. “Amelia Saxton.” Her Facebook profile picture popped up too. Her exuberant face on the screen, the way her wavy dark blond hair fell over her shoulders and her blue eyes shone, so full of life even on camera, almost made me smile back at her happiness. Almost. I briefly considered sending it to voice mail, but I didn’t. Instead, I answered, thrusting myself onto the sword of whatever inconvenience was on the line.

Just seeing Amelia’s name brought back the memory of the day Greer told me she wanted to end her life—before the cancer could. It took my breath away.

When Greer told me, my first reaction was to tell her no. But no one tells Greer McCann no. Not even her husband. When she said it, this eerie calm came over me, as though I were outside myself, receiving news that didn’t pertain to me. I had just faced that Greer was sick. I had never considered that my wife would die. She was too real to actually die. When she brought the subject up in our usual restaurant with my usual steak and merlot, I had nearly forgotten, seeing the way the light reflected off her pretty face, that she was even sick.

We had just been talking about how we would decorate a nursery when she got well, for Pete’s sake.

I swallowed a sip of wine, my stomach turning over. This was the only woman I had ever loved. I had changed so much of who I was and what I wanted because being with her was so much better than anything else. She made me happy in a new way, one I had never experienced before. My first thought, looking across the table, was, They’re going to have to kill me, too.

I would have given anything to trade places.

After that, I couldn’t stop touching Greer. I followed her everywhere, gauging her moves and her actions, trying to decide if she was getting worse, trying to keep her here with me. I didn’t necessarily agree with her idea to announce her plans via Clematis. But, again, Greer and “no” never mixed well. She wanted to frame the story to bring attention to her charity. I didn’t care what she did as long as I got to hover over her and breathe life into her while she did it.